


Coffee Grounds

by kingaofthewoods



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Amnesia, Angst with a Happy Ending, BuckyNat Secret Santa, Coffee, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-07
Updated: 2017-01-07
Packaged: 2018-09-15 13:31:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9237209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kingaofthewoods/pseuds/kingaofthewoods
Summary: Barnes may grumble about Starbucks and remember the good old days of rationed brew in WWII bunkers, but he will never recall the taste of the ground bean coffee he shared with her in the Ukrainian safe house. In fact, Bucky Barnes will never remember anything to do with his missions for the Red Room, or Hydra.The Winter Soldier has been permanently wiped from his mind.__BuckyNat Secret Santa for geisterschloesser.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [geisterschloesser](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=geisterschloesser).



> I tried to combine all the prompts into something coherent and this is what came out...

Nat spots Barnes at the Starbucks stand in the main lobby of the Maimonides Medical Center in Brooklyn, flirting with the barista.

She’s only at the hospital to deliver a change of sweatpants for Rogers, who has managed to break a leg while rescuing a fellow runner from a traffic accident just outside of Prospect Park. Sam called her earlier, finding the situation equal parts annoying and hilarious, to ask for the pants and a ride so that they could transport the hapless self-sacrificing super soldier back to his apartment. Amusing herself with inventing puns and jokes at Steve’s expense, she broke into the apartment he shared with Barnes in search for the clothes, and then drove to the hospital.

Even though she knew that Barnes would be there, she somehow wasn’t prepared to see him. The last time they met was in Germany. She’s been avoiding him since.

He’s chatting up the dark skinned barista, doing a successful job, it seems, because the girl is thoroughly charmed. He looks good, healthy. His hair is short and falling over his forehead; he keeps running his hand through the length of it, trying to push it back, obviously dissatisfied. His face is freshly shaved, a smirk ghosting at his lips, eyes a tad shadowed, but dancing. Posture relaxed, leaning on the counter in a large hoodie and loose sweatpants, he’s the image of an easy-going jogger in search for some morning coffee. The only thing betraying his identity is the silver hand courtesy of Wakanda's King that gleams in the gap between the hoodie sleeve and a thermal glove. Natasha watches them for a moment, her stomach cramping, before her feet carry her over. Against her better judgment she comes to stand next to him, pretending to study the menu.

She doesn’t know why she stopped instead of heading straight upstairs. The jury is still out on whether it was her worst or second-worst idea yet. The contender, her forlorn almost-romance with Banner, is a tough act to follow, but she figures seeking out her brainwashed former lover who doesn’t remember her has the potential to surpass it in its stupidity.

The flirting lulls to a natural stop as the barista completes Barnes’ order, and Natasha is still staring, unseeing, at the café’s offer when his attention turns to her.

“Oh, hello,” he calls brightly, startling her. “You’re Natasha Romanoff, aren’t you? Steve’s friend?”

“Yes, hi,” she says simply, feeling uncharacteristically dumb.

“James Barnes,” he grins. “Thanks for coming to the rescue. To be honest, I wasn’t looking forward to carrying the punk all the way home. He weighs a ton.”

"Uh, yeah, I was just..." she trails off. The ability to formulate words seems to have left her, and she ends up waving her hand vaguely, hoping that he will assume she is just flippant, and not brain dead.

"I'm coming up in a moment. We can go together, if you don't mind waiting, 'cause I'm afraid Wilson will shoot me if I don't return with coffee." He moves closer and lowers his voice, eyes twinkling. "What passes for coffee nowadays, at least. Caramel Macchiato? Peppermint Mocha? Kids these days are too fancy for a good ol' cup of joe, it seems."

Natasha's mind is assaulted by a memory of bitter Russian coffee that the Winter Soldier chugged straight out of a handless glass. The glass had a little protective wicker basket, but he’d discarded it, gripping the coffee in his metal hand so it could not burn him. Although it must have been scalding, he gulped it down with barely a twitch of an eyebrow, leaving just the thick layer of grounds. It was just after an extraction mission near Rakhiv in Chornohora mountain range, not far from the current border between the Ukraine and Romania. Their handler, Polzin, was a rare breed. He retained an unexpected kindness, even after working in the Red Room for near on ten years. He made them hot coffee to warm them up after they came in from the cold, ten hour winter hike in the unforgiving Eastern Carpathian climate.

The memory is so vivid, the smell of coffee so fresh, that Natasha fails to respond in time to Barnes' flirtatious joke. He leans back, smile a bit strained.

"It's fine," she says quickly. "I, uh, I know where to go. I don't have much time, I’ll just leave the clothes and the keys with Sam. I'll probably be gone by the time you get back, so, uh, I guess I'll see you around?"

The smile is all but gone, turned into a polite quirk of his lips. "Yeah, sure. See ya."

Natasha can't hightail it out of the lobby fast enough. She knows it's pathetic, but she doesn't particularly care.

Barnes may grumble about Starbucks and remember the good old days of rationed brew in WWII bunkers, but he will never recall the taste of the ground bean coffee he shared with her in the Ukrainian safe house. In fact, Bucky Barnes will never remember anything to do with his missions for the Red Room, or Hydra.

The Winter Soldier has been permanently wiped from his mind.

*

It was the triggers, Rogers explained to her when they finally met following the whole Leipzig debacle. They didn't have much time for idle chit-chat, what with trying to stop a purple alien megalomaniac from blowing up the universe to win over Death herself, but she managed to get the gist. T'Challa's best scientists had been trying to deprogram a number of inbuilt triggers which would make Barnes liable to be controlled. It was an inexact science, and obviously no one in Wakanda had the required skill set and experience to do a surgical job of extracting the triggers without damaging his mind. They did the best they could, but in the end the operation was only partially successful.

The triggers were gone, yes, but so were his memories of being the Winter Soldier.

Barnes' last memory, before he woke up in the Wakandan Royal Hospital, was of his last mission as the Howling Commandos' Sergeant, just before he had fallen to his apparent death. His confusion at finding himself more than seventy years in the future and missing an arm was considerable, but at least he had his best buddy to bring him up to speed. Obviously, the knowledge of what had happened to him was a hard pill to swallow, but without the memories the trauma was at best theoretical. Rogers told her that Barnes had apparently asked to have the memories reinstated out of guilt and need for penance, but no one knew how to do it, and further experimentation was deemed too risky. "And anyway," Rogers commented balefully, his smile bright with joy and relief. "Good riddance. There wasn't anything in those memories that anyone would miss."

*

Well, as far as he was concerned, there wasn’t.

Natasha hadn’t told anyone about her past with the Winter Soldier. At first there was not enough trust, then the timing was wrong, and now there was no point. The memories were gone, most likely irretrievable even with treatment. Besides, Rogers was right – further intrusion into Barnes’ mind was inadvisable, and the memories were not worth it. She wouldn’t want him to remember all the bad things just for their short-lived little affair. It wasn’t fair to him, and she wasn’t that selfish, all things considered.

Still, she didn’t expect for it to hurt so much. It was like losing him all over again. It was hard to admit that she’d harbored a hope that he would remember her in time. He’d remembered Steve, hadn’t he? Maybe, given enough time and exposure, he would remember that he’d been in love with her once. That she’d been in love with him back. He hadn’t during the two years he’d been in hiding, but maybe…

But it was all water under the bridge now.

*

Teaming up against a purple alien is not nearly enough to stitch them back together, but it’s a start. They don’t live at the Avengers facility upstate like they used to, but it’s still their main base of operations. Clint has gone back to his family, ostensibly retired, but probably still ready at a moment’s notice. Nat visits the Bartons every now and then, but her day to day life is spent in Hell’s Kitchen, when she’s renting an apartment. She’s even managed to adopt a cat. Liho is a nasty-tempered fleabag, but she’s a warm blooded noise maker who greets her at the door when she comes back late at night, exhausted and alone. It’s sort of pathetic, but it’s something to keep her focused.

It’s easy to avoid Barnes. He lives with Rogers in Brooklyn, and only comes up to the facility every couple of days. Nat tends to plan her visits around him, and mostly ignores him or nods politely when that doesn’t work out. Sometimes they’re on a group mission together, but they have never been paired, to her relief. There are moments when she thinks he looks at her longer than usual, probably noticing her unusually gruff behavior, but she doesn’t have the strength to be around him yet. She will be, soon, she lies to herself. Once she’s managed to work it out of her system. Grieve, or something. She doesn’t know.

Wanda notices, but doesn’t say anything. She has enough of her own problems and besides, their relationship was never that close, anyway. They were all like planets orbiting Captain America’s sun, but mostly indifferent to each other. Steve’s gravitational pull was strong, but it wasn’t enough to teach them how to form other relationships. 

So she isn’t really prepared – is she ever – to be ambushed by Barnes and Wilson in the communal kitchen at the facility.

“Nat, back me up here,” Sam demands the moment they step in. “Barnes doesn’t believe that history books branded him a Casanova.”

“Uh,” she says intelligently. 

 “I wasn’t a Casanova, Wilson,” Barnes snaps mulishly, throwing her an uncertain look. Nat’s breath catches. Is he uncomfortable? Does he care about her good opinion? Why would he? They have hardly exchanged a couple of words with each other since their conversation at the hospital, and those were always work-related.

“See, I would believe you, but Cap’s biographer says otherwise,” Wilson shoots over his shoulder, walking to the coffee maker. “He got statements from fifteen different women you’ve dated before the war alone. You want some?”

“Nah, I hate that stuff,” says Barnes, glancing her way again. “Haven’t managed to find a coffee I like in this century yet.”

“Suit yourself,” Wilson shrugs. “More for me. Nat, how about you?”

“No, thanks,” she says weakly.

Barnes takes her verbal contribution to the conversation as a go-ahead to address her.

“Is this really how history remembers me?” he asks her, equal parts horrified and offended. “I wasn’t some sleazy love ‘em and leave ‘em type! I was a good sport and a good date. Always brought the girl back to her momma before curfew.”

Natasha blinks at him, disbelieving, and not really knowing what he wants from her. "Really?"

"Of course!"

She takes a moment to regroup, bringing up her nonchalant persona. "So you're saying you're, what, a virgin?" she jokes. 

Barnes glares at her, even as a blush works its way down his neck. "I never said I was a saint. I just wasn't some God damn doll dizzy active duty."

"I have no idea what you just said," she tells him, laughing. Wilson snorts beside her.

"What?"

"I am Russian, Barnes. English is my second language and obsolete slang just flies straight over my head. At least, I assume that's what it was, and not just a random string of words."

"Oh," he says dumbly. "Right. Sorry. No, I said that it wasn't about getting the girl to sleep with me. I liked dating, I liked going out dancing, having a good time with a dame, and yeah, the necking was great, but it wasn't only about that."

He looks so endearing - embarrassed but adamant to set the record straight, the reputation of a Casanova so repugnant and ill-fitting that he has started babbling. Her stomach flutters with hesitant affection.

“You’re a good man,” she blurts out, like it’s a surprise. She knew that. She’s always known that, even when no one else believed it of him.

“’s only the decent thing to do,” he mutters, discomfited, but pleased.

Natasha ducks her head and excuses herself, feeling a flush of her own settling on her cheeks. She ignores Wilson’s considering stare burning a hole in her back as she leaves.

*

It takes some training to figure out his limits, but it turns out that while Barnes retains his serum-enhanced strength and stamina, the skills and techniques he used as the Winter Soldier are gone. Natasha is surprised to learn that there is yet another aspect of this situation that can hurt her. The stab of grief is hot and swift. She could never approve of how he acquired his abilities, but God damn it, it was beautiful. She could watch him fight for hours, mesmerized by his deadly efficiency, no movement redundant, all feints, punches, and lunges accurate and perfectly executed. Now all of it is a thing of the past. Barnes fights like you would expect, brash, dirty and loud, like a Howling Commando with traces of the street-smart Brooklyn kid clinging to his sleeves. It’s a fool’s errand to try and look for any echoes of her soldier.

And yet she tries, desperately, stupidly, observing him in the training room with Steve, watching him like a hawk on the rare occasion they’re on a mission together. What throws her for a loop, he seems to be watching her back.

“I must say, you’re amazing,” he tells her one morning in the communal kitchen before she manages to make a tactical retreat.

Natasha almost chokes on her coffee. “Gee, thanks.”

"I mean, in the field," he clarifies, embarrassed. "Your skills, they're formidable. Very impressive."

"Oh. Thank you." 

Barnes flashes her a bashful smile. "You're very welcome."

She continues staring at him, the awkward moment stretching until he coughs in his hand and turns his back on her, busying his hands with breakfast. "Listen, I was wondering, maybe you could show me a few tricks? Steve told me you trained with him when he came out of the ice."

She takes a moment to appreciate the irony. He wants her to teach him how to fight? It would be hilarious if it didn’t make her want to bawl so much. She can’t imagine training with him. Sparring with him, correcting his moves, touching him. It sounds like torture.

“Maybe sometime,” she says vaguely. 

His shoulders slump. “Yeah, okay.”

She doesn’t linger to witness more of his disappointment.

*

Rogers corners her the next day, of course. He’s all understanding smiles and hugs and “you don’t have to be afraid, Nat”. He thinks she’s having issues with Barnes because of all the times he attacked her. Steve assures her that Barnes is harmless, that he would never hurt her. “Give him a chance, please,” he tells her. “He’s a really nice guy. He really doesn’t remember anything about being the Winter Soldier. And besides, you could definitely take him if he tried anything, which he won’t.” The last bit is meant to be a joke, and she tries to laugh it off, but it obviously doesn’t work the way she wants it to. Steve’s worry makes her sick, and she comes to a decision then and there that it has to end, that she’s compromised and she has to do something about it. She just doesn’t know what.

So she calls Clint.

“I need help,” she says immediately when he picks up.

There’s a beat. “Coordinates,” comes the no nonsense response.

“No, shit, sorry. I’m fine. God, this is ridiculous,” she whines, putting her hand over her face. “I’m ridiculous. I don’t know what to do.”

“I need a sitrep in clear, short sentences,” Clint jokes, relaxing now that he knows she’s not in danger.

“I’m compromised. Emotionally.”

“I’ve noticed.”

“You’re not helping.”

“Sorry,” he laughs. “So what do you need help with?”

She stays silent, gathering her courage.

“I won’t be able to help you if I don’t know what’s going on.”

“I know that,” she snaps. “It’s just… It’s hard.”

“Take your time.”

She squares her shoulders. “What would you do if Laura hit her head and forgot all about you? If she had amnesia and forgot she was your wife?”

He’s silent.

“Clint?”

“Yeah, I’m here. I’m thinking. It’s a tough question.”

“Yeah.”

“I would… I guess I would try to make her love me again.”

Her heart squeezes painfully. “What if she was… different? She wouldn’t have her memories, she would be like another person.”

“She’d still be Laura,” he says simply. Nat’s sure he believes it.

“But wouldn’t it be unfair to her? She would never remember your wedding, or your first kiss, or any of it. She’d be at a disadvantage. She wouldn’t know you, but you would know her. Or at least a version of her. That’s skewed, isn’t it?”

“Not if I was honest about the amnesia and being her husband.”

“But that’s even more unfair, isn’t it? To put a pressure on her like this. She’d try to be like the old Laura, to try to live up to your memories of her.”

“And she would be well within her rights to choose not to try again because of that. But I think she would deserve to know.”

“Right,” she says, stricken.

“Nat… Is this about Barnes?”

She can’t find the words to answer that, so she doesn’t.

“Cap called me last night. Said he’s worried about you. That you’re being weird about Barnes. He thinks you’re afraid of him. But that’s not it, isn’t it.”

“It’s, uh… It’s complicated.”

“He’s Yasha, isn’t he.”

Natasha flinches as a couple of tears escape down her cheeks. “Yeah,” she admits eventually.

During her life she’s been… “involved”… with exactly two men. Her particular lifestyle wasn’t conducive to healthy relationships, or to relationships at all. She was trained to be sensual when needed, but sex for fun was dangerous and frowned upon, because it made one vulnerable. You weren’t at your best when in the throes of passion, anyone could get a drop on you and kill you, your partner being the most likely suspect. So while she appeared to be worldly and flirtatious, in reality she was anything but. She didn’t trust easily, and when she did, it usually came crashing around her ears. First with the Winter Soldier, their sweet, but silly romance destroyed without mercy by their handlers; and then later with Banner, whom she pursued thinking that he couldn’t possibly hurt her, that he was actually harmless, so focused on the Hulk taking a shine to her to notice that Bruce wasn’t really all that interested. In the end, the only other man she trusted was happily married with three kids. He was her best friend. So when he asked her once if there had ever been anyone, she told him. An abridged version, at least. She called the Winter Soldier Yasha, for some reason. Short for Yakov, the Russian equivalent for James. Ironic, really.

“I think you should tell him. He deserves to know why you’re avoiding him.”

She sucks in a breath, tries not to sniff. “That’s… not what I really wanted to hear.”

“I know,” Clint chuckles. “Sorry. I’m not very good at helping.”

“No, you’re not. Thanks anyway.”

“No biggie.”

She hangs up, feeling deflated, but knowing he’s right.

*

She finds Barnes in the entertainment room, watching, of all things, a documentary about quantum physics. When he notices her presence, he pauses the program and looks at her, waiting. Natasha squares her shoulders.

“We need to talk.”

Barnes shifts uncomfortably. “Yeah, sure.”

Natasha bites her lip and forces herself to go through with it. She owes him that much. “Not here. Come with me.”

Barnes follows her outside silently. His expression is tight, uncomfortable but determined. She leads him into the surrounding grounds, walking swiftly to the open field, knowing that no one will hear them over the howling wind. The silence between them stretches.

“Look, I’m sorry,” Barnes bursts out before she can start her prepared speech. “I know Steve means well, but I shouldn’t have spoken to him before talking to you, going behind your back like we’re still at school… I didn’t… I didn’t know that I hurt you, before… If I’d known, I wouldn’t have kept bugging you, you have the right to keep clear from me, I get it…”

“Barnes, stop,” she says quietly, her heart aching. “It’s not that. Sometimes Rogers can be wrong. He doesn’t know everything about me.”

He doesn’t relax. “What doesn’t he know?”

“Many things. I’m not afraid of you. I don’t blame you for shooting me. And I certainly don’t think you’re a monster.”

“But? There’s a but there, right?”

She turns away and stares at the surrounding woods.

“I, uh, I grew up in a place called the Red Room,” she says after a beat. She can’t see his face, but his confusion is apparent in the strained silence. She hopes he won’t interrupt her, because she’s not sure she has enough courage to start over. “It was part of Department X, a secret service division of the Soviet Union, not unlike Hydra. In fact, the Department most likely had close ties to Hydra, or it was Hydra all along, I am not sure. The Red Room was where the Black Widows were trained. We started early, at five or six years old, stayed till graduation at eighteen. The training was varied and extensive.”

She pauses, fights for control, takes a breath and plows on. "At the end, not long before graduation, the best girls who have proven their worth, were given a test. To survive a month under the tutelage of USSR's best operative and asset, the Winter Soldier."

Barnes' sharp gasp cuts through the resounding silence. She chances a glance and balks at his stricken expression.

"I trained you?"

"Yes."

"But that doesn't make any sense, look at you, you're amazing!"

Natasha laughs bitterly. "And so were you. The best, most efficient fighter I have ever seen. Focused. Resourceful. It was beautiful. I wanted to be just like you."

Something of her lost love must bleed through her voice or expression, because Barnes visibly recoils. "How old were you?" he demands.

"Nearly seventeen."

"Oh, God.  I took advantage of you, didn't I?"

Natasha flinches and Barnes takes that as confirmation. The look on his face is ugly, horror warring with self-disgust.

"No, you didn't!" she protests. "Why do you keep assuming you hurt me?"

"It's obvious, isn't it?" His voice has a tinge of hysteria to it. "You flinch every time I approach you, you leave the room a minute after I show up - "

It's so heartbreaking, and humbling, to see the results of her inability to cope. She can't do this to him anymore.

"Stop, just stop," she demands. "You've got it all wrong."

He snaps his mouth shut and waits, tense and grim. She can't take this anymore, his unwarranted self-flagellation, so she just tells him. It's a toss up whether the truth will be easier to swallow for him.

"We were in love,” she gets it out, plain and simple. Doesn’t wait for him to react. “Later, after I've graduated, they paired us up. We worked well together, so they kept doing it. Didn't account for us liking each other. Didn't take it well when they found out. They made me watch as they wiped your mind and put you in the freezer. I defected not long after that."

It all comes out in a rush, almost on a single breath, with her eyes fixed somewhere over his left shoulder. She doesn't really have the courage to look at his face.

"I thought maybe you'd recognize me in Germany, but you didn't. And now... Well. Just wanted you to know. I wasn't avoiding you because I think you're a monster. I'm sorry. It wasn't very professional of me. I'll do better."

She chances a glance at him. His expression is raw and opened, like he's been hit over the head. She looks away, not knowing what to feel.

"You don't owe me anything," she tells him quietly. "I would just ask that you don't mention it to anyone. I won't let it affect our working relationship anymore."

It takes him a moment, but finally he says, "Of course."

"Thank you," she says, ducks her head and walks away.

*

The next few weeks pass by slowly. Natasha doesn't see much of Barnes, but this time it's not because of her. He's more subtle about it, but he has stopped initiating conversations with her, has stopped smiling at her crookedly like he used to when he was trying to draw her in. He's completely professional and polite, and she tries not to take it like a rejection, but it's really hard. She hadn't realized she was hoping for anything when she told him, but now her disappointment is cloying and debilitating. It's different than how she felt when their handlers ripped them apart, or when he shot her and tried to kill her time and again without a sliver of recognition. The only other time she has felt like this was when Banner disappeared off the face of the planet, only now it's ten times worse.

She deals with it, because at least now she knows where she stands. It's gone, all gone, and there's no chance of it ever coming back. She's going to accept that and move on. It's not even the hardest thing she has ever done. She can do this.

*

Of course, life doesn't really work that way, does it?

*

Barnes almost dies in a fight that the Winter Soldier could have won in his sleep and with both hands tied behind his back. Rogers has a conniption blaming himself for neglecting his training regimen. Natasha watches him spiral out of control in his guilt and makes a decision.

The next day she is back at the Maimonides Medical Center, where Barnes is recovering from multiple surgeries and a gunshot wound to his gut. The bastardized version of the super soldier serum Zola pumped into him back in 1943 is the only reason he's even conscious and up for visitors.

Her heart aches when she sees him. Laid up in a hospital bed, washed out and beaten up, he looks completely miserable. The serum that kept him alive does not really allow for painkillers, and while his body is able to take it, Barnes has not learned how to bear it stoically like the Winter Soldier did. His misery shows up on his face, plain and simple. She didn't think it was possible, but his expression sours even more when he notices her.

"Hi," she says, keeping her voice level. "Heard you got pretty banged up."

"You don't say," he grunts.

She looks around his room. _Empire Strikes Back_ is playing on the TV that's supposed to keep him entertained.

"I see you're using your down time to catch up with pop culture."

"Yeah, well, it's something to pass the time, I guess."

"May I?" she points to the chair next to the bed

"Knock yourself out."

She perches in her seat like she’s ready to bolt any minute, but doesn’t say anything. Barnes is the first to break the silence.

“Seems like I’m not really cut out for this Avengers business,” he comments dryly.

“Do you want to be?”

He passes her a considering glance. “You know, I don’t really know.”

Natasha waits for him to continue, and eventually he speaks again.

“I didn’t want to go to war, you know. I got drafted, had no choice. I didn’t really feel like joining the Howling Commandos, either. But Steve needed my help, so I chose to stay.”

“You can just stop. No one will think any less of you. Not everyone needs to be an Avenger.”

“I know that. And I know that Steve doesn’t need my help anymore.”

She smirks. “Well, I don’t know, the team could use a pretty decent marksman now that Hawkeye is retired.”

She expects Barnes to be at least marginally amused by that, but instead he becomes even grimmer.

“Marksmanship won’t help me if they ever come for me again,” he says, looking her straight in the eye. “I may not remember being the Winter Soldier, but I remember being a prisoner of war. I don’t want them to take me ever again. I don’t want to become a Darth Vader, or whatever the hell they can think up next.”

Natasha’s heart goes out to him in sympathy and she runs with his silly metaphor. “You were never a Darth Vader. Darth Vader chose what he became, you didn’t. We were both more like storm troopers, indoctrinated, nameless weapons.”

He laughs bitterly. “I guess my metaphors are not up to par, either.”

She smiles and continues, ignoring his remark. “But it’s not a bad thing. Darth Vader had to die to be redeemed. If you ever watch _The Force Awakens_ you’ll see that storm troopers can shake it off and become rebels instead.”

His mouth quirks up in a smile. “Really?”

“Yeah, really.” She pauses. “If you still want… If you’re not uncomfortable, I could teach you a few things. About being a rebel.”

Barnes is capable of reading between the lines. “You would train with me? Are you sure?”

“Yeah.”

His returning smile is open and grateful. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” she says, feeling like maybe she’s wiped a bit of red off her ledger.

*

Barnes is a focused student. He makes progress in leaps and bounds, the super soldier serum paired with his determination doing wonders to his technique.

“I don’t understand this,” she tells him during their third session. “You’re learning much quicker than I expected. I thought you were training with Rogers. He’s a better fighter than I am. A better teacher, too, I bet.”

Barnes shakes his head, disgusted. “Have you seen him fight? All flashy pirouettes and round house kicks and impossible shield throws. I laugh at him half the time, and spend the other half feeling like a tool.”

“My fighting style is flashy, too,” she protests, laughing.

“No, it’s not,” he says mulishly. “Your play is flexibility, wit, and using your opponent’s strength against him, and you do that perfectly and deliberately. You’re a real dancer. Steve? He’s a freaking tank playing at being a prima ballerina. I can’t take him seriously when he’s just showing off.”

Natasha laughs and laughs, flattered and delighted.

His disdain at unnecessary flair in fighting is not the only familiar thing about him, as it turns out. The more time she spends with him, the more she realizes that he’s not that very different from her soldier. Or rather, that the Winter Soldier was not that very different from Bucky Barnes. He has the same mannerisms, the same down to earth attitude, the same deeply ingrained sense of responsibility. Even the mother-henning is not a surprise. His sense of humor is a bit less grim, and much more American with no Soviet references to draw from, but it’s so recognizable that Natasha often has to forcibly stop herself from reaching out to him. It’s gone, she reminds herself. It’s never coming back.

They become… sort of friends. They train together, exchange jokes, and even start working together on missions. Barnes relaxes around her, and she can’t help but be drawn to him, whether he remembers her from before or not. She knows it’s probably inadvisable, but she’s so tired of resisting that she just gives up. She loves him, she never stopped loving him, and it wasn’t because he loved her back, but because of who he was. She will take his friendship even if she can’t have anything else.

It’s a couple of months after they started their training sessions that her world flips again.

“Hey, Natasha?” he calls once they’re done at the gym.

“Yeah?”

“Are you doing anything on Saturday?”

She freezes. What? “No, not really. Why?” she asks slowly.

He smiles at her, a bit uncertain. “Would you like to go out for a coffee or something?”

Heart pounding, she goes for a flippant tone to cover how shocked she is. “I thought you didn’t like twenty first century coffee?”

Barnes looks away, passing a hand through his hair. “We could get a pizza instead, if you like. Or… Or go dancing.”

For a long moment she can’t find the words to answer. Her face slackens into disbelief, then falls into a frown.

“I don’t… You don’t have to do this, you know,” she says, angry and hurt.

“Do what?”

“Try to make me feel better. I’m over it. I’ve moved on. It’s fine.” It’s not fine, and she hasn’t moved on, not really, but that doesn’t mean she needs his pity.

He looks like he’s sucking on a lemon. “Right. Sorry. My bad.”

“Right,” she says, decisively, then turns on her heel and leaves the gym. She’s not ten steps out when she hears a thump, like a metal fist hitting the boxing bag. Her first instinct is to ignore it, but something makes her reconsider. She doubles back and finds him standing on the mat, shoulders slumped, looking sad. She can’t wrap her mind around this.

“Barnes,” she calls and he starts, immediately trying to school his expression into some resemblance of aloof. Unsuccessfully. “Why would you ask me out?” she demands.

He shrugs. “Why would anyone ask you out? You’re amazing.”

“You don’t mean that.”

“Why wouldn’t I?” he parries back, growing annoyed. “I get that this situation is completely bonkers, and you have the right to feel weird about it, and I know that I’m not the man that you used to know, but I thought I’d ask anyway…”

“But why?” she presses. She doesn’t understand any of this.

“Because I wanted to,” he says simply. “I wanted to ask that first time we talked, and I wanted it more the more I got to know you. You’re the most amazing, the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met. And then to learn that we used to… That it was another thing that Hydra had stolen from me… I never thought you would want anything to do with me after all that’s happened. But I thought that we’re friends now, and maybe… but I guess not. I’m sorry I brought this up. Forget about it.”

Throughout his speech he doesn’t give any indication that he’s lying. It’s possible that she’s just too stunned and hopeful to tell. If what’s he’s saying is true, then… She doesn’t know. Does she want to try again? What if it doesn’t work out? What if she can’t let go of the past?

“I, uh… I will think about it,” she says.

He jerks in surprise. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” she nods, smiling a little. He smiles slowly back, his eyes glinting. She feels her face heating up. “So, uh… I’ll see you.”

“Yeah.”

Natasha leaves the gym like she’s floating. It’s familiar, this weightlessness, the butterflies, the giddiness. She has felt it before, long ago, when she was younger. Only then it was all dampened by the sick fear of discovery.

There is no need to fear anything now.

It takes her a second to realize that she’s already made a decision. She doesn’t really want to wait any longer, so she turns back for the second time in the past five minutes, laughing.

They almost run into each other at the door.

“Hi,” she says stupidly, looking up into his surprised, beloved face.

“Hi,” he responds, blinking down at her.

“So I thought… There’s this little Russian place near my apartment. I thought maybe you’d wanna try their ground bean coffee.”

James’ answering smile warms her heart more than that Ukrainian coffee ever could.


End file.
